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The Id and The Odyssey; Episode 37

"Mornin'!"

Rich awoke and
immediately chastised himself mentally for not keeping the fire hot.
It was cold and damp. He packed the gear in the darkness and by the
time he pushed the bike onto the road. Frost had blanketed
everything. The day was starting miserably and he hoped not for a day
like two days earlier. “Too many such days and it might become a
habit. Maybe that’s it. These folks in Maine have just got into a
habit.”

Fog again
shrouded the day. Headlights appeared out of the fog like illuminated
eyes of a demon monster or the headlights of a mad scientists on an
early morning run for live body parts to complete a diabolical
project. Traveling in the fog increases time and distance by ten.
Rich knew that is impossible, but with only a wall of fog to
entertain him, there are no distractions to make time go by faster.
It seemed like a Twilight Zone experience.

Soon the houses
became more frequent and street lights appeared. He entered Bath.
The fog became thicker with the daylight.

He peddled to the
business center of town and spotted a small restaurant on a side
street. Beyond the widow were six or so people seated. They were
sipping coffee and conversing. A waitress skittered about the dinning
room with coffee warmers. Two men sat a counter reading newspapers.

Rich opened the
door. It squeaked.

One by one
everybody said, “Morin’!” “Morin’!”

Rich replied in
every direction and making eye contact with each person. He hung his
coat on a coat tree.

“Would ya like
to be at the counter or seated at a chair for yer poor achin’
back?” the waitress said. “Cause I saw ya ridin’ up on yer
bike. Ya might best want a chair for the back.”

“That chair
sounds good,” Rich said.

She directed Rich
to a table and he sat down.

She was a
masculine woman, wore jeans, and a flannel shirt.

“Now if we
should be gittin’ busy ya don’t mind if I sit some other folks at
yer table do ya?” she said.

Rich smiled, “Not
if they don’t mind.” Then he whispered, “It’s been a couple
of days since I showered so make this a last resort.”

“Did ya hear
that every one?” She said. “He’s ashamed that he’s a bit ripe
from not showerin’.”

A distinguished
gray haired man with a tweed jacket and vest spoke up, “Wait till
the water front gang gets in here. It will smell like the dead fish
under the docks and that’s after they showered!”

That was met with
laughter.

“Don’t worry
about the smell,” she winked. “Just worry about the tip.”

Rich smiled,
“Cheerful place ya got here.”

“Cheerful!”
She spouted. “This place is like a funeral parlor today. Let me
pour ya some coffee while ya look over the menu.”

“Would you like
a daub of raspberry butter on those pancakes?” she asked.

“I don’t know
what a daub is, but if it’s bigger than a sliver, the answer is
yes,” Rich said.

He sipped the
coffee from a thick white mug that was chipped along the rim. The
table was set for four. None of the silverware or china matched. It
was the same at every table. In fact, none of the tables or chairs
matched.

The man in the
tweed jacket said, “What’s your story, lad?”

“My story?”
Rich said.

“Yeah, where ya
from, where ya goin, where ya been,” he said. “That sort of
thing,” he paused. “And forget the name business. Nobody will
remember it any way.”

“I from a farm
in Ohio. I started peddling about two weeks ago. I’m going to the
Rockland area and here I am. And I’ll be looking for work when I
get there and a place to live. I don’t know anybody there.”

“Ya don’t
want to be a lobsterman,” a man at the counter said. “You’ll
starve to death.”

Soon they forgot
Rich was there and wrapped up into conversations about lobstermen,
fishing, and economics of the area. Rich listened. The conversation
was not unlike farmers talking about grain prices. The breakfast was
brought and Rich began to eat like a hungry field hand.

A stout woman at
a table called over to Rich, “Best be mindin’ the traffic, young
man. You will be hard to see in the fog. I work at the hospital and I
don’t want to see ‘em bringin’ ya in on a stretcher.”

“I’ll be
careful Ma’am,” Rich said.

A woman at the
same table with the man wearing the tweed jacket said, “Will ya
listen to that, what he said, ‘Ma’am.’ He’s got some breedin’
and manners. Ya don’t see young ones doin’ that any more. It’s
a disgrace.”

That started yet
another discussion.

As Rich ate a few
others came in and greeted with the obligatory “Mornin’.” He
felt obliged to add also to the chorus. Before I was done eating just
from the conversations I knew where everybody was employed. I knew
their political party, religion, and philosophy on life.

The waitress
brought the check. “There’s no other place like this in town. I
don’t know where they come from. I think every other place in town
has kicked ‘em out so they all congregate here.”

Rich looked at
the check. The meal came to $1.99. He handed her two dollars and two
more for a tip.

She smiled and
said, “That’s nice of you.” She then called out to the man in
the tweed jacket, “Hey judge you should take a lesson from this
young man, a two dollar tip on a two dollar breakfast!”

“You’ll be
takin’ me bowlin’ tonight,” he said and laughter erupted.

Rich went to the
coat rack and slipped on his jacket. As he walked to the door
everyone said, “Good luck to ya.” He waved and said, “Thanks,”
and “Good bye.”

That
breakfast dispatched any concerns he had about any perceived or
prejudiced views about the Maine indifference. If things did not work
out well in the Rockland area he thought about returning to Bath.

From Kenton Lewis: You Must Read This First To Know What The Heck Goes On Here

This site contains mostly fiction. Currently a novel is posted every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday entitled Beyond Beyond. It is broken down into short episodes between two and four pages each. Thus, if you enter on anything other than episode 1, it would be good the scroll down to find previous episodes.

The archives are full of short stories. Some short stories are very short, just one posting. Others are broken down into episodes also.

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This Is He

Taken shortly after my beheading. I refused to give up coffee. "Not from my cold dead hands!"